Sidewalk Sundae

The ice cream was sticky in her hand.

The semester was almost over save for some frantic cramming for finals. A few more sleepless nights and it’d all be over. The hectic pace wouldn’t start again until June. She could rest later during the break, when she went home to the province.

But she dreaded going home this time. She knew her decision was going to cause a lot of problems between her and her parents, especially her father. Her only sin was that she wanted to do something she was good at: writing. Her love affair with words started at a young age and her father had always supported her in it. They had lain side by side together at night while he read her her favorite poems before she went to sleep, sometimes repeating it over and over until she was satisfied or until she had the words by heart.

She sighed; the now-melted treat fell from the cone and fell. She sat down, watching it trace its way across the sun-baked sidewalks. The yellowish cream hardened like plastic and bonded with the cement.

“I’m scared to let things flow,” she always said to her best friend. “I’m afraid of getting hurt again. I want control of my life.”

“But are you ready for the consequences? You have to be practical you know,” her friend counters. “You need to think about that too. A career, a family…”

Always having no answer, she just smiles mischievously as if keeping her own counsel. She’d never reveal how much pain she felt over the topic.

She knew she had a decision to make this summer, something important, and that staying here watching the ice cream melt was just her way of delaying the inevitable. She wanted to pursue her own path in life rather than the one her parents picked out for her, and she wanted to be on that path as early as possible.

A smoke-colored kitten approaches shyly and starts to lick at the ice cream. Frail and barely old enough to fend for itself, it looked like it hadn’t eaten in weeks.

“I don’t hate my parents,” she told the cat, looking at its wide brown eyes, “I just want to decide for myself. I’ll accept whatever happens: if I fail, I’ll deal with it. I’m old enough.”

The kitten stopped licking and looked up at her, eyes not understanding. It tilts its head to one side out of curiosity. Out of impulse, she reaches for it, but it pulls away, leaving its snack unfinished.

She looked at the children playing in the street with a hint of envy. Dirty and browned by the sun, they seemed to have little care in the world. What mattered to them were friends and games that were never serious unless you were a kid, Spanish bread and taho and iced candy. They acted as though they had the world even though they didn’t have much.

She thought about whether she could live like that and smiled. Then she really thought about it and frowned.

Picking herself up, she made her way to the cool interior of the building. She knew what her choice was going to be, and she knew that was going to break her heart no matter what path she chose for herself.